Watching You
by deadliestdeceit
Summary: That—that had been the beginning of everything. This would be the catalyst. This was the moment, the moment their lives turned into a tale—of life, love and death. Obsession, as Hermione would find, really is a dangerous thing. One-sided CD/HG, FD/HG
1. Prologue: His Obsession—Her Hope

—**Watching You**—

Prologue: His Obsession—Her Hope.

—|—|—|—

Obsession? It's a dangerous thing. Cedric was a rather average wizard—discounting his pretty boy looks and charisma. He was proficient in Transfiguration, struggled with Ancient Runes, and put his foot in his mouth whenever he spoke to girls. He didn't do that now though, but when he was going through puberty in his third-year, he could barely look at a girl without blushing.

That was, until he met Hermione Granger.

It started out as an innocent friendship, naturally progressing into a crush. That crush, however—gave birth to what was his obsession. Hermione became all he lived for, all he breathed for. It was not a normal love, no, no—it was so much more _powerful_ than that. Everything about her was perfect, everything about her he wanted to be _his_. It made him furious, blind with rage; to see her endangering herself with the stupid Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Die, and the filthy Weasel.

But Cedric was careful to hide his addiction, his affliction. Hermione couldn't ever know the depths of his feelings for her. But that didn't change the fact he could control outside interferences. No one would touch what was his. If he couldn't have her. . .

No one could.

—|—|—|—

Cedric was however, unaware that people where privy to his unhealthy obsession with the younger-girl—those people including Hermione. She had noticed the manipulative ways he tried to control her life, how many friends she made, what classes she took—even what clothes she wore. Honestly, she would have ended their twisted friendship, if she wasn't so frightened.

It was a sick, deranged darkness in Cedric's stormy grey eyes that prevented her from doing so—that prevented her from shrugging his heavy, possessive arm from her shoulders when they walked the halls at school. Hermione had no doubt he was dangerous—but only when it came to her.

Harry and Ron where at loss of what to do. Sure, they would rush at Voldemort without a second thought, but when it came to Cedric Diggory, they had no idea how to help their friend. Everyone knew, that it could take one of the littlest things to set him off, and that reaction might just gravely endanger Hermione's life—and not to mention those around her.

It was a complex and fragile situation, and no one knew how to remedy it.

So she had been helpless, and almost resigned to her smothered, sheltered life with him. However, on that fateful eve of her fourth year, when her eyes had flashed across the Great Hall. Cedric's hand had been on her thigh, possessive like always. But a spark of hope—hope that she could be freed from him, ignited within her—when she met the intense, cerulean-blue eyes of Fleur Delacour.

That—that had been the beginning of everything. This would be the catalyst. This was the moment, the moment their lives turned into a tale—of life, love and death. Obsession, as Hermione would find, really is a dangerous thing.

—|—|—|—

**Note:** Should I go on with this idea? It's been absolutely nagging at me. Kept me up until three in the morning last night—it is driving me mad. Plot bunnies are just raging here =/. Review, and let me know what you think I should do, please? Oh, and this is just the prologue, by the way; chapters—if I do them—will be much longer. Cedric is a rather strange choice, huh? But I felt like mixing it up a little xD.


	2. Chapter 1: Shiver, The Intensity

—**Watching You**—

Chapter 1: Shiver, The Intensity

—|—|—|—

The only way to describe the feeling of Cedric's hand on her thigh would be _uncomfortable_. He always made Hermione feel uncomfortable, afraid—meek, even. Merely his presence made her shrink into herself. When she had first met him, he had been so friendly; always the perfect gentleman. He was the ideal best friend. Hermione could go to him with anything, talk to him about everything. Back then, she had _always _felt comfortable with him. There never used to be any unease, or caution.

And then, he changed. His friendly smiles were hinting to something more sinister; his gaze, was dark and smouldering with possessiveness. Hermione had noticed, and her fault had been not taking action—of not preventing his obsession with her from deepening. It was only when she realised exactly how serious things where becoming, did she begin to become frightened of him. Of Cedric—of her _best friend_. The one person she had thought she would be able to trust unconditionally, irrevocably.

Having your trust broken like that was a traumatic experience. Hermione was friendly, that was undeniable, but there was a certain shield around her; a wall. She was locked inside her own metaphorical tower, protecting herself from Cedric, her metaphorical dragon—just waiting; waiting for that metaphorical prince charming to come and save her. She loved Cedric she really, really did. Just. . . not the way he would have wanted her to.

"You alright, Hermione?" he never called her 'Mione or by any other abbrievation of her name. Last year, she had asked him why; and she almost regretted it when he answered, his growing obsession, his deformed, misplaced and too intense love had been seeping through the pretty words.

_"It would be wrong to call you by something different," so sincere, his genuine words. Hermione just hated the way his praise always made her feel so. . . _dirty_. "You are perfect just they way you are. 'Mione, Herms? That would be desecrating it, vandalising it's beauty and everything that makes you 'Hermione_'_."_

Cedric's words, they were beautiful. But the glazed, almost maniacal glint in his eyes had been enough to convey more than any words ever possibly could. Hermione was sure that he though he hid his feelings well, but she had known almost from the beginning how enamoured with her he had been.

At first, she had been flattered. How utterly _naive_ she had been.

Cedric was a handsome boy, smart and charming. She even had mused about maybe returning his affections, but could never find it within herself to feel more than something platonic towards him. As much as she sounded like a hopeless romantic, there just was no _spark_, not even a measly little tingle or jolt when she was with him. No butterflies, no nervous rambling. No blushes, no stuttering heartbeats.

_Nothing_.

"I'm fine," she answered him finally, looking down at the food on her plate. "Why don't you go sit with your friends?" Hermione vaguely gestured to the group of sixth year boys over at Hufflepuff table, all trying to get Cedric's attention. "I'm sure they are bursting with excitement over the tournament. I'm not too pleased with you planning on entering either, you know."

Hermione forced herself not to tense when his hand tightened on her thigh, "Really, love." he grinned at her, in what she was sure most would consider a boyishly-charming way. She saw it as menacing, a warning. "I'll be fine. They will be too, I'm sure. I can talk to them all they want once we head back to the Common Room. Until then, I just want to have a nice dinner with my favourite Gryffindor."

_Gryffindor. . ._If only she could have some of that so-called Gryffindor courage. "Alright. . ." Oh, how the mighty have fallen. It disgusted her to the very depths of her being—where was the Hermione Granger of the Golden-Trio? The one ready to face down You-Know-Who at any chance?

Apathetic, dark-amber eyes flashed down to her plate again, before flickering up abruptly—for some reason, drawn to something on the opposite side of the room.

"Good." Hermione barely heard his utterance.

It was as though she was drowning in a sea of blue. The depth, was enveloping her completely. A fierce, piercing gaze, drawing her in and swallowing her inside it's beautiful, swirling abyss. It was alike Cedric's smouldering and stormy one, yet this made her feel no fear. No, instead she felt thrills danced down her spine; every hair felt like it was standing on end. Fortunately, Cedric hadn't noticed the way her breathing hitched in her throat, and was instead engrossed in his meal for the time-being.

Never had she felt like this. Like the electricity from a live-wire was running scalding trails over her skin. The girl who was staring at her was more gorgeous than anyone she had ever seen before. It was an blatant beauty, yet no less intriguing or unique. She was older obviously, and a student from Beauxbaton's Academy of Magic; if her silk, powder-blue robes were anything to go by.

Almost trembling now, under the intensity of those eyes, and the powerful sensations rushing through her body; Hermione forcibly removed her gaze from the foreign girl, and instead focused on Harry and Ron; who where bickering over the last piece of chicken left on plate nearest to them. Yet, she could still feel eyes on her, setting fire to her skin as they observed; scrutinised, and studied her.

Anger, suddenly was heating her cheeks. How _dare_ this _girl_ make her feel these things? It was confusing and disorientating and the last thing Hermione needed at the moment. Resolve firm, she effortlessly slipped into mindless, mundane conversation with her friends. Cedric's hand on her thigh, still ominous and oppressive; yet she was able to pretend to ignore it.

Ignoring the girls eyes, however; turned out to be of no use. She could still feel them crawling ever her form, boring into her—even though she wasn't looking in the other girls direction, she could still feel it. A drawling, lilted voice broke her from her racing, muddled thoughts and distracted her from the strong emotions running rampage on her sanity.

"Are you finished with 'ze bouillabaisse?" A shiver made her shoulders tremble; just slightly. Pink, was dusting her cheeks. That was nothing compared to Ron's reaction—who turned an almost purple colour, and opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. A burning, almost angry sensation assaulted Hermione at his unabashed staring.

She herself found her voice missing as well, as she got a closer vision of the mysterious girl. The lingering anger, however, hardened her features into a glare. Unprovoked disdain, was rushing in her veins towards the unwanted feelings she was experiencing.

"There." Cedric was the one to answer, shoving the plate towards the girl with disinterest. Harry and Ron were still staring, and Hermione continued to glare—becoming more furious as the seconds passed.

The blonde smiled disarmingly at them all; even, bright white teeth looking as though they were almost sparkling. The younger witch valiantly tried not to notice how beautiful she looked in that moment. "You 'ave finished with 'eet?"

Hermione's scowl deepened when Ron began speaking. "Yeah," he breathed, his expression dazed. "Yeah, it was brilliant. . ."

"Thank you, Monsieur's. . ." cerulean lingered on Hermione a second longer than the rest, and the aforementioned girl shivered again. ". . . Mademoiselle." carefully, she picked up the dish, and not without meeting Hermione's eyes for another heart stopping moment, walked fluidly back to Ravenclaw table.

"She's a veela!" Ron's voice was raw and hoarse, and it was only out of unjust irritation that Hermione snapped back at him. It was rather unfair of her, but she needed to vent her frustration somehow, and Ron was a good outlet.

"Of course she isn't!" the already thunderous scowl set on her features deepened, "I don't see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot." that really was quite dishonest, because she had noticed various eyes fixed on the girl as she walked away—including her own. Most, also seemed to go momentarily speechless as well.

"I'm telling you, that is not a normal girl—" Ron continued to argue his point, his hands coming to rest on the table as he leaned forward earnestly.

"If Hermione says she isn't a veela," Cedric interrupted, his voice sounding friendly—yet, all three could hear the threatening undertone. "Then I trust her judgement. After all, she is the brightest witch in her year. Right boys?"

Harry and Ron stared at him for a long, pregnant moment, and then looked at Hermione, before nodding reluctantly. Hermione's darkened mood, blackened even further; and silently, she clutched her fork until she could feel her nails digging into the flesh of her palms. Cedric, almost smugly, moved his hand from her thigh and curled it around her shoulder.

Hermione met blue eyes across the room once again.

—|—|—|—

"Why do you let 'im snuff 'zee passion inside of you?" A familiar, lilted and accented voice reached her ears as she attempted to study quietly in the library.

Hermione's grip on her quill tightened, and as she pressed down to hard on the parchment it tore. Hands shaking, she didn't look up; but did pause in her writing. "I don't have a clue what you are talking about." she did have a clue, but she wasn't going to admit it. Not to this girl, who was eliciting all these unwanted emotions from her.

"Of course you know what I am speaking about." glancing up, Hermione finally looked at the girl which had been plaguing her thoughts since she had met her eyes last night at dinner. "I 'ave 'eard you are the brightest witch of this age. A promise of a grand future, 'zey all say. Surely, you do know what I am referring to, 'Ermione Granger."

Hermione wasn't surprised that she knew her name. Being best friends with the Boy-Who-Lived was guaranteed to give anyone a medium of fame in the wizarding world. "Maybe. But I don't see how it's your place to say anything. Plus, I'm not going to answer to someone when I haven't even been given their name."

"Fleur Delacour," as she spoke, there was a measure of pride shining through her tone. "Now, tell me. Why do you let him smother out your fire? You 'ave 'zuch a fierce flame inside of you. It would a shame for 'zomething that beautiful to go to waste, non? I would 'ate to see something like that burn out. . ."

Hermione trembled in her seat. "You don't know what your talking about, _Fleur_." the name felt so good, sliding from her tongue. Merlin, it was too fast. Too confusing and disorientating. She couldn't keep up with her contradicting thoughts and feelings. Standing, Hermione gathered her things and mustered up a glare. "Go tell your cryptic words to someone else. I'm not interested."

"But you are," Fleur smiled calmly and it didn't falter under Hermione's displeased expression in the least, "You are just as interested as I, oui—if not more so. I see you, 'Ermione. There is no use in hiding from it. You are trying to avoid the inevitable. An impossible task, I must 'zay."

Hermione brushed past her, none to gently; her heart beating loudly in her chest. "I'll keep avoiding it, until it goes away. And it will." she stopped for a moment, "It will go away."

"It will explode in your face, 'zat is what will 'appen." Fleur looked over her shoulder, still the epitome of calm. Hermione again found her skin burning, her hairs were standing on end at the other girls mere proximity, even when she was feet away. "Not an ideal outcome, I would theenk?"

"It wont." Hermione wasn't sure who she was trying to fool. Without waiting another moment, she stalked from the room, feeling adequately shaken from the short, almost nonsensical conversation.

Fleur smiled down at the table that Hermione had been sitting at previously, and ran a hand over the book the younger girl had left behind. "How can you avoid the unavoidable, my dear 'Ermione? Denial is but a river in Egypt, especially when you cannot even convince yourself." she murmured quietly, gazing town at the cover.

_Hogwarts, a History._

—|—|—|—

**Note:** A vague dialogue, I know lol. But I hope you understand what they are talking about, and if you don't, Fleur is expressing her opinion on Hermione's relationship with Cedric, and how it will all only end it disaster. Hermione, even though she had come to terms with what Cedric had become, is avoiding the entire subject. A typical reaction amongst those who have a boyfriend or girlfriend who is obsessed or overly possessive of them.

Oh, and I don't own the _Harry Potter Series_.

Review? xD


	3. Chapter 2: Grinning—Baring It

—**Watching You**—

Chapter 2: Grinning—Baring It.

—|—|—|—

The smile—smirk—Fleur was giving her was sickly-saccharine and filled with mirth. The older girl was leaning nonchalantly against the corridor's cold, stone wall; face impassive and amused all at the same time. Yet, there was something unreadable flickering in the blue of her eyes. Something almost concerned, almost curious. Hermione, as she stood there; books tightly pressed against her chest, and fingertips stained with dry, smudged ink; felt as if she was being mocked, just slightly.

The amber-eyed fifteen year old couldn't help but notice how sultry she looked; the flames of the lanterns hanging on the castle's walls casting the elder, foreign witch in dancing shadows. However, it was as eerie as it was abstract and pretty.

"What do you want?" the words spilled impatiently from Hermione's lips. Cedric would be looking for her, his eyes scanning every crevice, nook and cranny in the castle; the beast inside of him far from being satisfied. She could imagine the charming, falsely modest smiles he would be giving his simpering fan girls as he stalked past—eyes searching relentlessly; solely for her.

"Always 'zo defensive," Fleur didn't push off of the wall, only shook her head and continued to gaze at her. Hermione didn't notice the large, spiral-bind book grasped in her hands. "'Ave you always been like 'zat? Or 'ez it because of 'im?"

Hermione's lips tightened into a slight grimace, eyes moving the stare down the corridor; so they wouldn't be tempted to roam the older girls svelte figure. She was getting sick of the goosebumps that would rise on her skin whenever Fleur so much as opened her mouth. Hermione was deathly afraid of the unknown, and the blonde, Beauxbaton student was as foreign as they came—in all senses of the word.

"Are you always so intrusive? Why don't you just mind your own business?" she had no idea why she didn't just walk past. It would be so much easier if she could just bring herself to ignore Fleur. To pretend she didn't exist. But as much as she was afraid of the unknown, Hermione was hopelessly curious by nature—always thirsting for knowledge, insatiable

"Only wiz' you, oui." Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed. "But, I am not 'ere to interrogate you. I actually 'ave some'zing of yours 'zat I was wishing to return." stepping forward, Fleur presented a slightly worn copy of _Hogwarts, a History_. Slightly embarrassed, Hermione took the book silently; still not quite looking at the other girl.

Hermione looked down at the book in her hands for a few moments, before speaking hesitantly. ". . . Thank you."

Fleur looked down at the book too. "'Zee pleasure is all mine, 'Ermione. But I wonder why you will not even look in my direction? Am I 'zat hideous that you fear even letting your eyes rest on me, or is eet some'zing else?"

They both stared at the book for a few pregnant seconds, before Hermione suddenly looked up; directly meeting Fleur's eyes. They gazed at each other silently, but their eye-contact was broken abruptly when the sound of footsteps could be heard coming increasingly nearer. Aware of their close proximity, both distanced themselves awkwardly just as Cedric rounded the corner; almost looking angry as his eyes landed on Hermione.

"Where have you been? I've been bloody worried sick!" Hermione froze as his hands gripped her upper arms tightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fleur clenching her fists, glaring furiously at Cedric—loathing clearly seething in the depths of her eyes.

"Uh, I—"

Fleur interrupted before she could get another word of explanation out. "'Zee delay waz' my fault, Monsieur. I was merely returning a possession of 'er's that she 'ad left in the library. I am terribly 'zorry to have caused any inconvenience." the way she spoke, and the narrow slant of her eyes, however; conveyed she wasn't _sorry_ in the least.

Cedric stared at her with dark eyes, catching on to the dangerous, disdainful tone in her otherwise enchantingly smooth voice. "I see," he glanced down at Hermione, his own voice velvety and soothing as he let up his grip and stepped back slightly; grinning in a falsely-boyish way. "I hope it doesn't happen again, I was afraid something had happened. You shouldn't scare me like that, love."

It was a warning, for both Fleur and Hermione. The blonde-haired witch however, wasn't one to ever back down so easily. "Oui, it was an unfortunate circumstance. But things are 'zometimes out of our _control_, non?" a perfectly arched eyebrow rose just slightly, and a smirk flirted with full-lips.

Cedric, who did not look impressed nor smitten at the light jab she had craftily directed at his reaction; plastered on a forced smirk of his own. "It's not a crime to be worried, is it? Never know what could happen in these halls, especially to a pretty young girl such as Hermione."

Hermione, to say the least, was insulted at his words. However, she glanced between the two nervously. Reaching out, she grabbed Cedric's hand, tugging it slightly. "Let's go, yeah? I'm rather hungry, and we'll be late for dinner if we don't leave now. . ." surreptitiously, she flickered a glance at Fleur; who was staring at their joined hands intensely, her expression unreadable and carefully blank.

For some reason, this infuriated Hermione to no end. She hated how the girl captured her attention so; being mysterious and aloof. It was grating indeed.

Cedric was obviously delighted at the fact she was the one to initiate their physical contact, no matter how innocent it was. "Whatever you want, Hermione." cocky now, he smirked widely and slithered his left arm around her waist; pulling her that much closer. Hermione, now regretting her actions, hid her frown carefully and avoided both Fleur's and Cedric's eyes.

"I should be goeeng' then," Fleur didn't smile as she walked away, waving back at them airily, looking for all intents and purposes; detached and uncaring. Both of which, Hermione knew she was not.

"I bet that is one high-maintenance girl." muttered Cedric dispassionately, and Hermione just stared at Fleur's retreating back; feeling at a loss. For a second, as Cedric started tugging her in another direction; Hermione wondered what it would be like to have Fleur's arm wrapped around her instead of his.

"Yeah. . ." she mumbled, not really registering his words.

—|—|—|—

Hermione felt no kinship with the crowd surrounding her; all eagerly cheering and applauding those who were brave enough, or stupid enough—in Hermione's rather biased opinion—to enter themselves into the Triwizard Tournament. Boys and girls—those old enough, all were timidly, or sometimes arrogantly placing their names in the Goblet. Sometimes the large party of spectator's would yell their support, and others would call out obscenities and insults—the majority being Slytherins.

Presently, it was Cedric's turn at putting in his name. All of the Hufflepuffs roared and cheered with abandon, whistling and clapping. Cedric looked pleased with himself, and Hermione didn't bother mustering up a smile as he glanced over at her—instead, shot him a venomous glare, to which he _almost_ frowned darkly in return. Yet, Hermione knew he wouldn't; not in front of his adoring hordes of fans.

Merely minutes later, the tall, dark and handsome and brooding Quidditch star Viktor Krum stalked into the room. Hermione heard girls sigh wistfully, and boys stared silently in admiration. Rolling her eyes, she almost scoffed when she saw at him glance as her just before he dropped his parchment into the large, magical red flame. The last thing she needed was another Cedric, but unfortunately, she had noticed how the Bulgarian sat in the library, without a book—and stared at her unabashed—while his fan girls giggled and swooned around him.

It was annoyance, really.

It was another half an hour later that the whole congregation of Beauxbaton students glided through the Great Hall's doors. The colossal Madame Maxime leading them in a exact line of pairs. In turn, each of them all submitted their names—Fleur being the last, and the most popular according to the unreserved crowd. Hermione was mildly bothered—for reason's unknown—when the other girl didn't so much as cast her a passing glance. Ron babbling moronically beside her about the 'hot veela' also added to her suddenly oppressive mood.

"You are zee' one 'zat worries my 'zister so much, non?" a child-like voice enquired. Turning her head, Hermione blinked in rapid succession when her eyes landed on what she deemed a miniature Fleur—as it was uncanny how much the young girl standing adjacent to her resembled the older blonde.

"What?" Hermione asked frowning in bemusement, having never seen this girl before in her life. "Who are you?"

The young girl looked like she almost wanted to scowl, but instead she straightened in her seat; glancing at Hermione haughtily out of the corner of her eye. "I am Gabrielle Delacour, and I want you 'zo stay away from Fleur. You understand, oui? I do not want my 'zister to 'ave a failing 'eart because of you."

With an equally haughty glare, the girl smoothly stood from the bench and exited the Great Hall. Hermione, bewildered; stared after her, much like she had stared after Fleur that morning. She didn't get long to ponder the odd occurrence however, because soon enough Cedric was beside her; grinning widely. She bit back a sigh of dissatisfaction.

"You going to cheer for me? In the Tournament, I mean."

Hermione looked at him and huffed. "A bit conceited of you to say, don't you think? I'll laugh if you don't get chosen, solely for you being such an arrogant prat." she grinned after a few moments, to show she was joking. The last thing she wanted was for Cedric to become sullen. It was always better to keep him in high spirits. Hermione hated the fact that she had to walk on egg shells around him though, it took the sincerity out of their friendship. Not that his obsession didn't already take a lot.

Luck, however, was in Hermione's favour today—barring the strange conversation with Gabrielle Delacour.

Cedric's expression fell into one of mock-hurt. Dramatically, he held a hand to his head, "O', thou fair lady, you wound me so brutally. What ever shall I do without your genteel and coaxing support?" it was meant to be joking, and Hermione was sure; had she not been plagued by Fleur's words from earlier—she would have most likely laughed.

But, that wasn't the case; and Fleur's words _were_ echoing loudly within the confines of her mind. Hauntingly, eerily. . . yet, so beautifully. That spine tingling voice, those goosebump inducing eyes. The girl was more like a woman, she was too graceful and held herself to confidently to be called anything less.

_Why do you let 'im snuff 'zee passion inside of you? _

—|—|—|—

"I think Viktor Krum fancies you."

Hermione sighed loudly, flopping unceremoniously into the plush pillows on her bed. Ginny was sitting beside her; legs crossed and dressed in her pajamas—a ratty old 'Chudely Cannons' Quidditch shirt that was a hand-me-down from Ron and a pair of muggle running shorts. Hermione, dare she say it, thought the younger girl looked adorable.

Another sigh escaped when her mind immediately imagined Fleur dressed in something similar. Having not bothered being discreet and hiding behind her normal façade of apathy and confidence, Ginny was looking at her oddly—half concerned and half amused at the older girls rare show of teenage angst.

"I wish he wouldn't," Hermione mumbled back finally, ruffling her wild-locks in frustration. "It's bad enough having Cedric all over me constantly. The last thing I need is that oaf as well. I can just imagine Cedric's reaction now. . ."

Now, Ginny just looked pitying. Hermione hated it, and masked the bitterness in her eyes with a saccharine smile. "So, how's the crush coming along? You walked by Harry earlier without so much as a sigh—is your tomato impression gone for good, do you think?" Ginny's face, predictably, went red.

With a laugh, Hermione ignored the burning feeling in her chest. "I guess not then. . ."

The red-haired thirteen year old hit her with a pillow. "Shut up!"

They both grinned, and a pillow fight ensued.

The rest of the afternoon passed without event, and when Hermione was finally under the covers of her bed, a silencing charm successfully drowning out Lavender's loud snores; she was left to think in silence. The amber-eyed girl's thoughts where still chaotic, however. Fleur, Cedric, Viktor; the upcoming Triwizard Tournament, preparing for O.W.L's, and organising S.P.E.W—her mind was a maelstrom, and the stress of it all was taking a toll on her.

Why, oh why, couldn't her life be normal? Hermione loved being a witch, she adored coveting all the knowledge there was to offer about the wizarding world—she just wished it wasn't all so dramatic. Sometimes, she caught herself fantasising about leaving Hogwarts, and maybe transferring to Salem Academy—or some other faraway school.

Those thoughts of independence and freedom were however, squashed when she remembered Ron and Harry—her best friends, her surrogate brothers. She wouldn't be capable of leaving them, especially not with the threat of Voldemort possibly returning being as high as it was. Plus, she knew she would miss them to death anyway—and, Hogwarts was the best place for learning, particularly because of the fact Dumbledore was the Headmaster.

She would just have to deal with Cedric, Voldemort and Fleur Delacour. What was the muggle expression?

_Grin and bare it._

—|—|—|—

**Note:** Ginny made a (brief) appearance. A mention of Fleur's feelings was surreptitiously referenced (Gabrielle). Cedric and Hermione's friendship was shown. I mean, I'm not going to make him absolutely horrible and evil. He's just a teenage boy, lost within the depths of obsession. He loves Hermione, and she loves him (granted, not in the romantic sense. Cedric is _in_ love with her, and she isn't—just to make that clear). She doesn't want to lose him as a friend, even though she knows he is sick (mentally, psychologically).

Oh, and the 'failing 'eart' doesn't mean a veela broken heart (_No Defense For You, Aucune Defense Pour Toi)_ or anything like that. It was just a miscommunication between Fleur and Gabrielle—eight-year-olds interpret things differently, especially love.

Reviews = motivation.

P.S—Inspiration for the stalker/obsessed Cedric _was_ Edward Cullen, haha. I had been watching Twilight with a few friends the day before I posted the prologue of _Watching You_, and it had been the scene where he's in Bella's room watching her sleep that really gave me the idea.

xD.


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